Dance Steps for Always
by mycrazystrangeworld
Summary: Supposed to be a series of little stories that complete the canon story. Mostly thoughts of characters, things implied to happen in the show, or things I've always imagined happening off-screen; focusing on Caskett. So canon universe, obviously. It's my way of getting through cancellation. Starts from 1x01. Not sure what I'll do with s8 yet. Rating's definitely gonna go up.
1. The Last Day of Ordinary

_A.N.: This little piece (well, two little pieces, actually, but only in a way like the two sides of a coin are two different things) takes place right before 1x01 (Flowers for your grave)... nothing much happens, but that is also not the point here. Hope you enjoy it!_

 _(p.s.: all reviews are welcome, but please, keep in mind that my intention is not to impress, but to process my own feelings. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes! You've been warned. Now go, entertain yourselves!)_

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett had a long day behind her at work but she had not even noticed how overwhelming it was until she got home and went straight to her kitchen to grab some bites to eat. She had closed a case that day which normally would have meant she felt like she got a little piece of closure, therefore she would let herself loose a little – probably meaning a not-too-long cocktail night with her friend Lanie. Nothing much, just a few hours of chit-chat, giving Lanie the opportunity to comment on her basically non-existent romantic life, and then she would go home, so she could start the next day at the precinct relatively freshly.

Today was different, though. For one, she had another case on her mind, one from weeks ago which she still couldn't make any sense of. No reasonable suspects, no motives, no…anything. She hated these cases – the ones that had a tendency to go cold, and the colder they got, the more she felt the inside need to obsess over them, to solve them and give justice to the victims nobody seemed to be able to. She knew she wouldn't get any closer to closing this particular one sitting alone at home at night, but she didn't really feel like going out. Or having a friend over.

The other reason was more fun, and equally nerdy. She wanted to _read_. She left the kitchen counter for her bathroom; she turned the hot water tap, found some candles and lit them, then walked out to her living room to get her hand on the book she'd been reading the past few nights. It was a mystery novel (once a cop, always a cop) by Richard Castle, the last Derrick Storm book that came out about a year before, to be exact, and this was definitely not the first time she was enjoying it. This was her reading project for the month – another obsession of hers; she'd been (and was) determined to re-read the whole series through until the new book was published soon. Very soon, she said to herself, though truth be told, she couldn't wait.

She knew this was going to be the last piece of the series, and she was way too excited to finally get her hands on it. Good kind of excited, that was something needed to be mentioned, after all, critics were already at Castle's throat, speculating what turn his career would take after this sudden bold move of getting rid of his most successful character and bestseller series. Kate Beckett was not afraid of a down spiral of his work. She had trust in her favorite author. His characters, complex, well-developed, heroes but flawed, had never stopped fighting for what they thought was right, they always wanted to understand the core of things. They weren't as shallow as many characters in the genre, and that didn't only stand for the Storm series. Richard Castle had never disappointed her.

She poured a glass of wine and climbed into the tub. Hot water burned her skin and made her feel the blood in her veins (a little later the wine would help with that, too), and she breathed the vanilla-scented, heavy air in as she opened up the cardboard cover of the book.

Two pages into another world buzzing reached her ears, then her brain. She carefully put down the book, and half-climbed out of the tub to grab her phone. Yeah, the precinct. Murder. Damn…all she wanted was one night within the action-packed but, at the end, always fair world of Richard Castle's.

She felt robbed, but by the time she had a towel on and was looking for some clothes, she was already in full cop mode. Somebody died, and she had to make sure the one responsible payed for it.

* * *

Richard Castle was lying on the couch, staring at the muted TV, though having no idea what was on. He didn't care. He'd been ignoring the jovial chaos caused by the ladies of the house preparing for the book party, as well.

 _His_ book party.

Well, he couldn't care less. He wanted nothing but to stay there, alone, wallowing in the scary possibility of losing his storyteller skills. (No, it CAN'T be a simple writer's block. _That_ he always imagined to be just an excuse. _This_ must be something more drastic.) His pajamas were way more comfortable than anything that was appropriate for an event like this, anyway.

"Richard, darling, shouldn't you start to get ready, too?"

Her mother's voice was coming from upstairs, but with a blink of an eye a colorful cyclone was already wandering around the living room, signing Martha had arrived to talk to his better self and make him do his obligations. Middle school all over again… why again had he let her live with them...?

"Yes, Mother, in a minute", he said with a strange mixture of apathy and frustration.

"You could learn a lot from your daughter, kiddo. She was ready half an hour ago."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"What is she doing now?"

"Studying, of course." Martha rolled her eyes theatrically. "For a test _next week_."

"Of course." He threw his head back. "I don't wanna go."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Richard, just stop wearing that two-week-old sweaty awfulness and let's not be late from a beautiful opportunity to use your charm you so love to shine on others!"

Rick grumbled and closed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood. He hadn't been for a while now.

It was all boring. The same, all the time. He smiled, women sighed. He told a mediocre joke, everybody laughed. And the _questions_. Of him. Of his novels. Of… _Derrick Storm_. Storm had nothing to offer anymore. He'd become a shell of himself. He was boring. And _he_ was boring. And bored. No excitement. No new stories. No… _challenges_.

"Come on, Dad, if I have to go, you have to as well!", he heard Alexis. She'd come down, and now she was placing his chosen pants, shirt, and jacket on the armrest at his feet. "You only have to change into these and we can go"

"Thank you, sweetie", he forced out a smile. For her, he sat up. "In a minute", he repeated. His fingers rubbed his cheeks, then he rested his forehead in his palms.

In a minute, he would put on his clothes, as well as the face he used to wear in public. Self-irony flooded him.

 _Here comes Richard Castle, bestselling author and not-so-unattainable dream of women._


	2. The Purpose of a Muse

_A.N.: Still at the time of 1x01, a little scene before Castle starts to write his first words of Nikki Heat, after the iconic 'You have no idea" is said, and he gets home._

 _Thanks for reading! Hope you stick around to see more as this is still kind of an introduction phase... I appreciate every one of you._

* * *

The front door shut with a loud bang, yet Rick Castle didn't even flinch. Almost in trance, he was heading for the dining table, while his gaze was wandering somewhere out the grandiose windows of his loft. He tripped in the chair when he got to his destination. Still only half-noticing, he sat.

Some minutes passed, or maybe even hours. He jumped when Alexis' voice reached him.

"Dad, are you okay?" She was standing right across from him. He had no idea when she'd come.

"Yes, sweetie" He rubbed his eyes. "Why?"

His daughter ventured closer.

"I don't know… you just seem… different."

Rick caught up his head.

"Different? _How_..?" He knew he'd done some strange things while Alexis was growing up. His actions, good or bad, serious or childish, moved on a wide scale. He thought she had seen just about everything from him. However beneficial it might be – or not – for her.

"Yeah" Her face was showing insanely focused observation, a feature of hers that he suspected she got because she'd been growing up with a writer as a father whom it was very hard for a competitive kid to top at analyzing people. "It's like you were daydreaming, but not your usual way."

"I have a _usual_ way of daydreaming?" He was stunned, and amused at the same time.

"Yes" She flashed a sophisticated, grown-up smile she'd had even as a child. "I can always tell when you're fantasizing about something crazy you want to do, you have this mad scientist expression, one just knows it's either going to be a real life disaster, or an awesome chapter in your next book", she sputtered. Oh, his kid knew him, that one was for sure. "But now… you seem more- peaceful. You give off some vibe of excitement, too, that's what makes it a weird combination. You even smiled a little."

"I did?" He'd not been aware.

"Yes. So, what happened?" The question got him unprepared.

"Nothing… It's just gonna take a while to process this real murder thing." He smiled at last. She still seemed worried, but now he also sensed a little impatience, and only now took notice of her outdoor clothes and bag.

"Where are you going?"

"Sleepover at Paige's" She wrinkled her brows. "You already agreed to this."

"Yes. Yes, I did." Rick stood up. "Have a nice time!"

Alexis looked confused.

"You sure you're okay, Dad?"

"Yes, I am. Go, don't make your friend wait! See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, tomorrow…bye, Dad"

She hesitantly took a step toward the door, but when she saw her father was already somewhere else in mind, she hurried out.

The moment she closed the door, he walked into his office. He sat down, put his legs up on the desk – and was staring out the window again.

It was barely the murder that he was caught up in. Directly, at least.

Being part of an investigation, though only as a writer, wasn't unfamiliar with him. Damn, he'd even watched CIA in action. That wasn't quite it, though. He'd had fun, and for a while he'd fallen head over heels for Sophia, the agent he'd shadowed, but she'd been nothing more than admirable. Hot and badass, yes, but all mystery around her had been because of her work. Exciting, interesting work, but that was it. Though it had been an entertaining ride for a while, it faded eventually.

Now something got to his core. He felt alive in every inches of him, felt closer to what he'd always been writing about than ever. Seeing Beckett in action made him a witness of something that in his heart of hearts had been a reason of his obsession with mystery from the very beginning. Something important.

Maybe he just overreacted after all that time spent wasted, blocked, and bored. He couldn't write anymore, so he exaggerated a real life experience… Did that make sense? And… did it really matter? The woman was gorgeous. Smart. _Challanging_.

She'd thought he wanted her for her body, and of course he couldn't deny he would definitely have taken a chance to see how bossy and claiming she could be in bed (or anywhere else for that matter)… but it wasn't her delicate, tall figure he couldn't stop thinking about.

Her eyes. It was the blazing look of those greenish irises, the unexpected mixture of determination and sorrow… and a certain amount of playfulness that never quite reached any other part of her. That was what excited him. He was almost desperate, he was slightly astonished to realize, to find out what locked all that passion inside and made her pretend to be so… strict.

He was sure he'd profiled her right on their first day together – it had caught her so off-guard that for a moment he could see all her sentiments running across her beautiful face. He in fact felt bad, guilty even, thinking about how vulnerable he'd seemed to make her.

Still, he wanted to see the story. Her story. Not just this one, he longed for learning everything about her.

" _You have no idea"_ … oh, he did have, plenty of ideas. He wanted to _know_ , though.

It wasn't until at least half an hour had passed that he realized he actually had a story building up in his head. Whole little scenes, composed into nice phrases, and even more pictures that ran through his mind… He had unconsciously started the writing process.

He found his inspiration.

He couldn't help but smile by this thought. He reached for his laptop. He could just use what he had and write a good story. And would start with a draft in a minute, of course.

But that wouldn't mean he would get to know _her_ story. He needed to find out more about her. Except she was never going to let him shadow her, like Sophia had, while on a case that's not related to him.

Well, not if it's up to her, anyway.

He felt a grin growing on his face while he reached for his cell phone.

It's time to call his buddy, the mayor.


End file.
